Love Letter to the Green Crocodile

Managers need care too

Green Crocodile in the Parts Hospital

(written by Sharky)

I’m Sharky, the main firefighter. I took over this post because I love the green crocodile and it’s hard to sit idly by while a friend is suffering. This is basically a little love letter to that bad-ass who’s laid up in the hospital right now.

A manager had the idea of introducing our parts, one by one. Which isn’t a stupid idea, but it’s hard to focus on perky cocktail-party intros when a friend’s in the hospital. So instead, screw the “here’s this part, here’s that part” bs and let’s focus on someone in need.

The green crocodile is a highly beloved scientist, analyzer, and all-around excellence-oriented manager who does a variety of jobs with poise and skill. Usually, the green crocodile can be found living in a small all-white laboratory with a closed white door. In the lab, there’s a long desk with a microscope and reports and white cabinets above the desk. Opposite the desk is a small bunk-style bed where the green crocodile sleeps.

Green crocodile’s job is to analyze our behavior, put it under the microscope at 10x magnification, check for errors, write a report, and hand it off. This feedback enables us to learn as quickly and effectively as possible from life! Most reports come in at a 3-5% error assessment which is completely tolerable and highly addressable.

Previous to IFS work, the green crocodile was an inner critic who wrote reports with a routine error assessment of 30-50%. Every report was a flaming catastrophe that caused other parts to devolve into shame, despair, or confusion — how could we fail so badly at life?!! Anger and spiraling reactions ensued: we firefighters fumed “these reports are fucked!” Overall the feedback loop on my behavior was broken as a result of the green crocodile’s EXTREMELY overblown reports of epic failure — 50%? That’s D-. Those were rough times.

One year at the Kripalu IFS workshop we made an announcement in front of the large group of about 50 people. I remember being in the pink and grey tile-floor bathroom before the announcement, hearing reassurance that we’d do fine. After the announcement, we got a D as usual from the green crocodile. For fuck’s sake!!

That was it. I KNEW I had NOT gotten a D. But the report was “total shit” from the green crocodile. What the hell was going on here? Lucky for us, that week we spent the ENTIRE week of the IFS workshop almost exclusively working with the green crocodile.

The problem? The green crocodile magnifies our behavior 10x to suss out tiny errors. Okay, fine, no problem. Then it KEEPS THE MAGNIFICATION AT 10X, and passes on a CRAZY 10x magnified report. Voila, there’s the problem. A said, “Green crocodile, your reports are great but you need to bring the magnification down to normal and give us normal magnification reports.” (Note— ‘A’ is the name we call the ‘Self’ on the inside. ‘Melissa’ to you on the outside, but ‘A’ on the inside!)

Green crocodile: “You can do that.”
A: “I can NOT do that. Once anyone sees this D- report, all hell breaks loose. It’s part of YOUR job description to reduce the magnification to normal.”
Green crocodile: “Huh.”

It took a week, but the outcome was 10x less upsetting reports emanating from the green crocodile. NO reduction in excellence, or analysis of our behavior, or lack of feedback about our life effectiveness — just a tiny, simple change in how the reports were delivered. And ‘overnight’ (after about 20 hours of IFS work), the green crocodile transformed from one of our most upsetting inner critics to one of our most beloved champions of excellence.

The benefits of that week of inner work didn’t stop there. A few years later, a middle-of-the-night parts emergency arose as they will from time to time. A distraught exile, p pi (pi pronounced like 3.14) was worried about not getting a report from the green crocodile about the original upsetting event.

p pi: “But where’s the green crocodile? Are they okay?!!”
A: “They’re probably asleep.”
p pi: “But why are they asleep? Where’s our report? I need to know they’re okay!”
A: “Well, knock on the door then.”

When p pi knocked on the lab door, the green crocodile welcomed them with astonishing kindness, I mean, unbelievable welcoming energy for a manager who was just woken up around 2 am. The green crocodile reassured p pi that all was well; we hadn’t done ANYTHING to deserve the precipitating event so there was no report to file. But not only that, the green crocodile let p pi know that they’re welcome any time, day or night, to come to the lab. And since then, various exiles have taken the green crocodile up on this offer, and found a tiny lab bunk bed to sleep in and an extremely compassionate ear in the wee hours of the night.

Last week a behavioral flaw in me (and I do mean me, Sharky, because I suck at time management) triggered a rough interpersonal rupture. Internally, everyone was able to stay calm and achieve a rather magnificent repair, and in the external world the conflict served its purpose — to adjust the relationship, to deepen it, and to come out the other side stronger. But afterwards, checking in on the green crocodile, something was shockingly wrong.

A: “Green crocodile, what’s going on?”
Green crocodile: “I feel like I got electrocuted. I think I have an electricity burn on my leg” (said in the world’s calmest, almost monotone voice, at total odds with what was being said).
A: “Say what?! You have a ELECTRICAL burn on your leg, that is TERRIBLE. I would really, really like to take you to the parts hospital.”
Green crocodile: “Well…as a manager that’s unusual, but…I do I have an injury, and hospitals are for injuries, so, I will acquiesce.”

The Parts Hospital

The parts hospital is the infirmary at Hogwarts. Initially, the green crocodile had a concern about going:

green crocodile: “I want to go, but my bed in the lab is extra long. I don’t want my tail to hang over the edge.”
A: “Reasonably enough, and luckily it’s magic, so we’ll make you an extra-long bed.”

Since checking in to the hospital, a variety of horrible magical inner things have happened, but the green crocodile is simultaneously recuperating and doing another round of hard IFS work. Exiles like the blue butterfly (bb) have stayed overnight to keep them company. BB even brought the green crocodile a bouquet of roses. But no ordinary roses — these were roses from Arrakis, straight from Jessica’s exorbitantly expensive, secret palm-lock conservatory. For those who know, those are RARE and priceless roses!

Whenever we have a major part in the hospital for an extended stay, our external life tends to fall apart a bit. So…no ability to go to bed on time, firefighters jacked up, one episode of Blue Bloods becomes a binge of three…but it’s all for a good cause.

The green crocodile deserves another round of self-transformation and our system is rallying to make it happen. Managers rarely have the self-awareness to accept that they, too, need help. When they do, what a miracle! That the green crocodile took A up on the offer to go to the hospital is a major sign of progress: the green crocodile is leading the way, showing all the managers just how much liberation is possible with IFS. And I, as the main firefighter Sharky, am all for it. Get well soon green crocodile. We’re all here for you, the same way you’ve been here for us for years.

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